X-Cape, Issue one ) Group Home
by D. Calme
Summary: Beginning of a series ( hopefully ) involving an inner city view at the X-universe


Disclaimer: Most of the characters, except Sarah ( Marrow ), are mine ( so bite on that Marvel. ). Adult language. 

Thanks to RogueGal for beta-reading this. Unfortunately, I lost the mail which had her "fixes" on them, so... kinda wasted her time there. Also, thanks to those who offered to help. 

Notes: This is set some 10 years in the future, in the Marvel universe, centered around a new team of young mutants, one that doesn't nessisarily want to save the world, carry on Xavier's dream, or be heroes. Just a bunch of troubled kids, with powers and potential too great to be wasted. If you care for profiles of each main character, just reply me. Archival and Feedback welcomed.

_ X-Cape Issue 1: Group Home _

Her foot splashed into a filmed over puddle of oil and stale water, covering her old Fu-bi sneakers. It didn't bother her, not the dark, dank pit she found herself in, not the rotten smell of the sewers, not even her own rotten smell. Nthablia N'golo has been a survivor from birth. She had to look past disgust, look past fear, to survive. Stomping, huge, footsteps drew near; foot steps that spoke to her; the stomping and noise of it all screamed of outsiders, intruders, the unwelcomed. She knelt and blindly felt about the filth covered ground, finally cutting her hand on a rusted grating. Before the harsh rays of unwelcome flashlights could reveal her, she was gone, tucked away in a crawl space once used to hold wiring for a long since obsolete subway system. A boot landed close enough for it's untied lace to fall between the spaces and dangle against her nose.. 

"Fuck, I know she went this way.." said a harsh, barking voice. Through the grates she could make out, silhouetted in the speaker's hands, a wicked looking rifle with the flashlight mounted at it's muzzle. She knew not even to breath then, not to shiver or even think.. just wait. Her powers were just charging up, so that was the only option left to her.. Patience. A trait every rat must know; when to watch the trap and when to spring it. 

A clanking, smooth metallic gait came nearer, something four legged she knew from the pattern of sound. She tilted her head just so, giving her a glimpse of the metal beast above, all she caught was shining skin and glowing red triangular eyes scanning about the darkness.. It would see her. She was no clairvoyant, that wasn't her gift, but she could still _ feel _ it; she just knew. That beast would find her, darkness or light. It was a hunter. It was a killer.. A single dred-lock fell against her thick lips and she compulsively chewed it, despite the ages-old grime caking her hair. 

The beast spoke, "I scanned the area," it's almost-human, synthetic voice sent shivers through her, "her foot prints stop around this spot. She's here, dead doubt on it, she's here." 

"Prep the collar, Jackal, and set yer auditory thingies on top notch." 

"Damn, you know that gives me headaches.." 

The human laughed, "Doc said that was just yer imagination! Yah ain't havin' no headaches, Jack, you just _ think _ yah are." 

It let out a curious sound, like a rumbling growl, and whine, before falling to a low hum. "Her heart... she's a frightened deer, Kirch; weak and shivering and so damn _ close. _" 

The light around her niche dimmed as who she figured to be Kirch turned his rifle to scan the walls. Jackal barked something like a laugh, "Close, but no cigar, buddy... Your warm though, red hot even!" as it placed a clawed metal paw on the grating and raked the surface rust away. She had to move, to cover and clear her eyes of the burning dust and debris he kicked up. The glowing red triangles struck her and narrowed into duel trapezoids. "This hunt is over....". 

Suddenly, Kirch let off a round of fire, distracting the Jackal and giving her a chance to kick off the grating and scrabble for freedom... only to be lifted by Jackal and thrown into the wall like a rag doll. For the first time, she got a full view of it. A great metallic wolf, his entire body gleaming and silver, it's mouth opened in a pathetically un-natural snarl. It must not have seen her as much of a threat; Jackal turned and bounded off after whatever startled Kirch. Her powers had been charging long enough, it was time to move. Or in Kirches case, stop. She stared at him a moment, as he stood transfixed, watching the direction Jackal went, his rifle trained and waiting. Five minutes later, he would blink and glance where he'd swear she lay only a moment before, and find nothing. . 

Nthablia first impulse, when she stopped Kirch's time, was to run in the other direction, but she knew the Jackal would find her easily, if not then Kirch would just backtrack. There was only one way into this tunnel, and a few ways out. Only, she'd have to make it pass the beast. . 

There was light ahead, and two clashing figures slashing at each other beneath it. The Jackal pounced like a true animal, only to be slashed down by a mysterious woman with claws, some sort of knife-weapon, and a feral, dangerous gleam in her eyes. Nthablia tried to slip by, though the bright light left her exposed, but the battle was too fierce for her to be noticed. The mystery woman moved with the deadly grace of a panther, even her long, ponytailed pink hair seemed to move in a strange, serpentine dance with the rest of her. The woman plunged her weapon into Jackal's neck, deep between flexible metal flaps and into his circuitry, leaving it writhing on the ground, probably repairing itself with nanites. Her fierce turquoise eyes struck Nthablia's and instantly softened. She glanced at the beast, ran to the shocked young black girl, snatched up her hand and practically dragged her away.. 

As they ran, Kirch came up on Jackal and knelt beside his comrade. "Damn it, I lost'er, man. One minute she was there, the next.. Poof!" He pulled the bone fragment from Jackal's neck. "This what I think it is, Jack?". 

It's red triangle eyes grew somewhat brighter, as it rolled off it's side into lying position. "Yeah it is.. which means we got no worries, Kirch. The little deer got caught in a bear trap. No need to hunt her, she's already ours." . 

"Rather've got to rough her up a bit, though.. maybe some other stuff too..". 

"Shut up, you sick bastard, and get me back to the Doc's. I need repairs, and we got some splainin' to do" . 

Nathan Smith had his MD, Mini-disk player, blasting deep, thumping beats so loud the social service worker beside him winced in sympathy pain. The taxi driver, some bummy looking old-timer, glared into the rear view, getting flipped off for the gesture. His Mini-disk was turned full blast, filling his mind with penetrating Rapska rthymns laced with heavy base, ska style guitar rifts and horns beneath raw rap lyrics. The music had him going, pumping his head, kicking the seat ahead of him; head knocking, the slang went. The social worker was a complete ass, no ifs ands or buts about it. He was an uptown, flat-scan, white working stiff who didn't give a damn about Nathan, or any other street kid. He was just another job, that's it.. 

The moving corpse tugged at Nathan's baggy leather pants leg, calling his attention. Nathan glanced at him warily, and waited for the song to end before slipping out his earphones. He waited another moment for that high pitched whine to go away, normal after effect for his loud music, or early symptoms he was going deaf. . 

"We're about near the house, Nathan. This is your very last chance, you know that. Next time your in prison with the big boys, and as tough as you like to act, Mr _ Sandman _ , your nothing compared to them. Remember that.", he said, shaking his knobby finger at him. He sat back, looking satisfied with his speech, and stared out the window. Nathan didn't take his lazy, half lidded gaze from the skinny white man. He liked to intimidate people, show them who was the top dog and who was the bitch. The skinny dude, Mr Parsons, though Nathan didn't give a damn what his name was, felt his eyes on him and seemed to fold into himself a bit.. 

Nathan wasn't a huge kid, at 17 he was 5'8, medium frame, and 160 pounds. Not huge, but he was tough. His eyes were hazel, clear, and beautiful. They were also unwavering, piercing and strong. All part of the lessons his father taught him, about being a man and not a bitch. Walk strong, look strong, talk little, carry a gun. His pops taught survival as opposed to love. That was fine, Nathan needed survival a hell of allot more than love anyday. He always wore pitless T-shirts to show off his lean muscled arms; his favorite brand was WBA, Wife Beaters Annyonomous. He leaned back a bit, still watching the stiff, and scratched at his nappy-style hair. Nappy style was a new fad; tiny braids twisted into little curls or balls that made it look like he hadn't brushed his hair in weeks. In the street terms he knows so well, Nathan looked like a straight out "Nigga". And niggas made men like Parsons lock the door at night. What made it worse was Nathan was a mutant as well. And muties made men like Parsons take up guns, riot in the cities, and support genocidal maniacs the likes of Bastion, and the latest, Fuji Turisama of Japan. . 

When they pulled in font of the building, Parsons was eager to get out and away. Nathan "Sandman" Smith stepped out after, his thick lips curled in a smirk. Nice house, he thought climbing the front step. He glanced at the sign posted beneath the mail box. _ Xavier house for troubled youth _. Troubled youth, he snorted. Bull shit.. 

Parsons handed over Nathan's papers and scurried out the door without so much as a glance. As the Taxi driver dropped his gym bags on the stoop, Nathan did a once over on the man pursuing his record. He was lanky and slim, with huge circular black glasses. A true to life nerd if he'd ever seen one. The man looked up and squinted at Nathan before smiling. "Hello Nathan, or is that Nate?" Nathan didn't answer, he needed to make an impression. "Then I'll just call you Mr Smith", he said with a smile, tugging him by his arm. Nathan didn't like that, being touched. Felt like wet greasy slime rubbing against his skin, but he didn't struggle. 

The room he was pulled into was a mess, which shocked nerd beside him. 

"What in the he--", he paused and held his chest, struggling to calm, then continued in a sugar sweet voice, though it quivered and the veins of his neck looked like they'd jump out and beat the living shit out the kids for him. "What have you been up to in here, guys?" 

A bald Asian kid with arms completely covered in wild tattoos had another kid, this one white with golden blonde hair, by the shirt collar, yoking him up with his fist ready to strike. He flashed a quick, innocent smile and let the other kid go. "Uhh.. Yo, Mistah Myah's, we were just.. you know, rough housin, man.. that's it" The white kid straightened up and brushed some shaggy hair from his face, showing he was at least 5 inches taller than the Asian, but not strong at all; he was sickly looking with pale clammy skin and sunken-in cheeks. His blue eyes looked like he hadn't had sleep in weeks. "Nothing happened..." he said as he tried to set a turned over couch straight. Mr Myers glanced at this beautiful, fine ass girl sitting cross legged in baggy Jnco jeans on the only unflipped piece of furniture in the room. She was spanish, dead doubt on that, her skin was a rich carmel tone, naturally tanned. She was full figured but in no way fat, with luscious kissable red lips and dark, near black eyes. Her black belly shirt revealed a few unflattering tummy rolls. _ But who'd give a damn with the rest of the package looking so sexy? _ "Drug deal gone bad, Mr Myers. The cops were raidin' a minute ago, you just missed it." She gave Nathan a wink and went back to reading a magazine. 

Mr Myers sighed as the two boys cleaned up, lifting toppled lamps and a coffee table. He pointed at the Asian. "This is Mr 'Smoke', whose so mysterious he doesn't want the others to know his real name..". Myers didn't see, but Smoke flicked him off with a grin. "And this is Tyler Klien; you'll be bunking with one of them." 

Smoke plopped down, kicked up a booted foot on the table and lit a cigarette. "You can smoke here?" Nathan asked. Myers shook his head. "He's a special case." he said and left it at that. He opened his mouth to introduce the girl, but a ragged scream stopped him short. He rushed out of the room, leaving Nathan with the others. "Another 'special' case.", from the girl before she stood up to introduce herself. "I'm Selene Morales, and your Nathan Smith." in a classically hispanic/New York accent.

"How'd you--" 

She smirked and nodded to Tyler, "Let's just say he's good with electronics... He hacked your file off the compu, and we all got a good look at it before you showed up, Nathan 'Sandman' Smith. Used your mutant powers to get the speed fiends a cheap high and put the cops to sleep. Pretty slick... " The screaming came again, follow by a stream of curses in what he could swear was french. "What is that?" 

"That's Rachel--" 

"Headcase," Smoke cut in, "she's as loco as they get, man. A total schizophrenic, she's hearin' stuff all the time, says she's readin' minds in, like, Russia. It's BS, she's just does that shit for attention or the drugs or somethin'." 

Without a word, Tyler got up and left the room. Nathan wasn't going to make friends in this house, not sane ones anyway.. Smoke got up and pulled Nathan to the side, throwing his arm over his shoulder. "I saw the way you eye Mrs. mamacita over there, and I know what yah thinkin.. Trust me, there's mad shit you don't know..." 

The door opened and slammed shut, two women rushed in and pass the living room. The first stepped backwards, saw Nathan and smiled. She couldn't be a councilor, not with her hair.. it was pink! She grinned at him, knowing what was on his mind, and crossed the room, extending a hand; behind her crept a smaller mousey looking bum with dreds. The bum's eyes were totally pitch black, not like Selene's dark brown. They didn't have whites at all, all blackness.. It gave Nathan the creeps. He took his eye from the freaky one and shook the woman's hand, noticing her arms were covered with bleeding cuts and her jumpsuit was torn and slashed. She spoke in a strange, husky voice. "You must be Nathan.. I'm Sarah Callisto, your parole officer, mentor, and trainer. Welcome to our group home." 


End file.
